Ah, what a nasty city Barcelona is! And I say this despite having had a royal time in the Boulevard Culture Club – where me and my Swedish colleague obviously ended up shaking our asses on a stage… somehow, they put too much alcohol in the drinks in Spain. Never thought I’d complain about such a thing, but perhaps I’m getting old.

Yeah, right.

In any case, we also went to mega Camp Nou to catch Racing Santander trying to find the goal against the ├â┬╝bermighty FC Barcelona. Pssch. They didn’t stand a chance – but I least we got to see some goals. Must admit it is pretty cool when 80.000 fans yell out their passion for the game. Myself, I was a little bored, a little cold, a little shifting weight and shuffling feet. No matter how much I try to like football, it just doesn’t reach me in the same religious sense than the other 79.999 people at the venue.

But I was busy complaining about the city; well, here goes. Without Gaudi, they got nuttin. It is dark, dreary, and dirty. Forget about walking home at night without at least seven whores simultaneously reaching for your balls, trying to squeeze out whatever cash you have left in your pockets. Bloody disgusting, eventually also rather scary.

I didn’t even like the food. The chorizo was too hard, the patatas bravas too wet, and the tapas absolutely bland. The potato omelette was sad, and rest was just greasy. Ugh.

See you later, Catalunya. Of course, the French had to ruin the experience even further. Guess what; they were on strike. Strike. Now there is something the French do well. God, I long for Ronald Reagan.
Restricted airspace over France meant that it was going to be pretty darn hard to reach Finland from Spain. Fucking believe we spent the whole fucking evening at the airport. Managed to get to Copenhagen somehow, around two in the night. Slept two hours at a bad hotel, hopped on the morning plane to Helsinki. Yugh. I’m all dead – if not for the pain in my swollen useless excuses for feet keeping me awake.
And I have a 25 hour flight to look forward to in the early morning/night… which I’m absolutely sure will be delayed because we’re going to the armpit of the world, London Heathrow.

Flying is torture. But the beaches at Kauai beckons. Back 18th March. Aloha!

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